


Skittles Series: Orange

by MercyBraavos



Series: Skittles Series [5]
Category: Psych
Genre: Angst, Established Relationship, Fluff, M/M, Slash, Smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-11-10
Updated: 2016-11-10
Packaged: 2018-08-30 03:55:46
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,137
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8517604
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MercyBraavos/pseuds/MercyBraavos
Summary: Caution. An orange Skittle.





	

**Author's Note:**

  * For [PsychLassieFan4Ever](https://archiveofourown.org/users/PsychLassieFan4Ever/gifts).



> A note that I probably should’ve included in the previous installment – never prevent your partner from using their safeword, folks. It is possibly the worst breach of trust that can happen in an intimate relationship. The only reason I allowed myself to write it is because Shawn knew Lassie wasn’t using the word for himself, but for Shawn. However, at the end of the day I’ll say it again – never prevent your partner from using their safeword.
> 
> Spoilers: Mentions of 4x01 “Extradition: British Columbia” and 4x03 “High Noon-ish.” Takes place immediately following 4x05 “Shawn Gets the Yips.” As per usual, canon compliant except that Abigail doesn’t exist.
> 
> When I wrote the first installment of this series – otherwise known as my auspicious return to fanfiction after fifteen years – I’d intended it to be sweet, fluffy, colorful (har har) with some mild angstyness solved by sex. I have NO idea what happened.

_“It’s over. Now get out.”_

It’s been more than a month since Shawn said that to him, but he can still hear it with perfect clarity every morning when he wakes up alone. When he sees a familiar blue car in the station parking lot. When he drives past the _Psych_ office even though it’s nowhere near his actual destination. When he sees goddamn bags of skittles in the grocery store. When he hears O’Hara laugh and turns to see Shawn teasing her fifteen feet away.

_“It’s over. Now get out.”_

He hears it on the flight to Vancouver and while watching Shawn flirt shamelessly with Despereaux. He hears it when O’Hara looks at him in concern but seems to know better than to ask. He hears it when Shawn taunts him about Hank’s nickname for him and when Shawn saunters around in that sheriff’s outfit. He hears it in Shawn’s impatience and disappointment as the cuffs go on Hank’s wrists.

He hears it when he stumbles drunk from Tom Blair’s and finds himself on Shawn’s doorstep. He hears it when he gets tired of knocking and peeks through the window to see the converted studio empty and barren.

_“It’s over. Now get out.”_

He hears it when Shawn runs to him about an armed man in the restaurant. He hears it when he warns Shawn out of the way and opens fire. He hears it when he realizes the grieving father wants him dead.

_“It’s over. Now get out.”_

He _doesn’t_ hear it when he’s handcuffed and forced to his knees. He doesn’t hear it when he looks up at Shawn and sees fear in his eyes. He doesn’t hear it when Shawn throws a damn cordless phone – of all things – and saves his life.

Instead, he hears Shawn’s quiet declaration.

“ _I love you and whatever happens with us or anything else you should know that someone loves you. That **I** love you.”_

He wonders if Shawn still loves him and he hates himself for allowing Victoria to rope him back, even if only for a moment. He doesn’t love her, not anymore, but there’s a big pull to that, going back to what you know. It was a mistake, but at the same time it wasn’t. He shouldn’t have kept it from Shawn, he shouldn’t have approached it like a possibility, but he doesn’t regret the realization the evening brought him to.

_“I’m going to let go of everything I’ve been holding on to, so we can both have tomorrow.”_

Shawn was his tomorrow; _is_ his tomorrow. His next week, his next year, his… forever.

He just has no idea how to fix it.

So, sitting in his kitchen, he fixes what he can; painstakingly gluing shattered ceramic back together. He’s not sure what made him gather up the remnants of the pineapple dish when he left that night. Ostensibly it had been to keep Shawn from stepping on the shards of ceramic and hurting himself, but really he thinks he just wanted to remember. He wanted part of Shawn with him. He looks to the center of the table where five colorful candies sit, homeless without their dish.

He’s added an orange one. He hopes he gets the chance to show it to Shawn.

He slides the last sliver of ceramic into place and presses firmly to set the glue. It’s not perfect, but it’s not broken anymore either. He goes to the sink to wash his hands and as he’s drying them there’s a knock at the door.

He swings it open to find Shawn standing on his porch.

“Uh, hi.”

“Hello, Shawn,” Lassie says, cautious though his heart is in his throat.

Shawn glances over Lassiter’s shoulder, eyes darting around the living room. “I’m sorry if I’m interrupting anything, I just… I wanted to make sure you were OK after…” Shawn clears his throat, “after what happened today.”

“I’m fine.” He steps back, waving his hand. “Would you like to come in?”

“I don’t want to intrude,” Shawn says, his expression wary. “I’m sure she probably doesn’t want to deal with company right now… you were almost killed today.”

_She?_

“Shawn… who do you think is here?”

Shawn blinks at him. “Your _wife_ , Lassie.”

Lassiter feels comprehension dawning on him like a summer sunrise.

Before Shawn can stop him, Lassiter has grabbed his wrist and hauled him inside. “She’s not here,” he breathes, closing the door behind them, “and she’s not my wife.”

“But you – you went back to her. You _left_ me!”

Lassiter gapes at him. “I didn’t leave you, you broke up with me because I lied to you!”

“You’ve got to be fucking kidding me.” Shawn is staring up at Lassiter, fury and hurt in his eyes.

“’It’s over, now get out.’ Those were your exact words, Shawn.” Lassiter scrubs a hand over his face. “I fucked up and you threw me out.”

“I – I thought you went back to Victoria,” Shawn says quietly. “I felt stupid for falling in love with a married man.”

“I’m not married… not anymore.” Striding into the kitchen, Lassiter pulls a sheaf of papers from a drawer and lays them on the counter so Shawn can see the signatures. “A judge signed off on these last week. I’m officially divorced.”

Shawn looks at the papers and then back at Lassiter who turns to put the papers away safely.

When Lassiter turns around, Shawn is staring at the repaired pineapple dish. “I wondered… I thought maybe you threw it away.”

Lassiter shakes his head. “I figured out your pattern.” He nudges the orange Skittle with his knuckle and Shawn examines it.

“The ‘S’ is missing,” Shawn says softly.

“They’re damaged. All of them,” Lassiter explains. Slowly, he slides the candies around until they sit in an unmistakable order. _Red, Orange, Yellow, Green, Purple._ He smiles up at Shawn and whispers, “but when you put them together they… they just make sense.”

The corner of Shawn’s mouth twitches and he glances up at Lassiter before quickly looking down again. A flush paints his cheeks as he rubs the back of his neck. “Jeez, Lass,” he says, embarrassed, “it sounds fucking stupid when you say it out loud.”

Lassiter can’t help himself, he reaches out to cup Shawn’s cheek, gently turning the other man’s gaze back to his. “I’m so sorry, Shawn,” he whispers, locking onto those blue-green-hazel eyes. “I needed to see her, needed to let her go. I needed to know that I _could_ let her go. I shouldn’t have kept it from you.”

Shawn is silent, his expression unreadable. His eyes slip closed and Lassiter steps closer until he can fold the younger man into his arms. For a moment, Shawn lets himself be held. But as quickly as the embrace began, it’s over.

“I need time, Lassie.” He steps back and looks up sadly.

Lassiter wants to grab him, pull him back into his arms and _make_ him stay, but he knows he hasn’t earned that. Shawn may have jumped to conclusions about Victoria, but it was Lassiter’s failure to communicate that facilitated it.

And that’s what it comes down to. It’s what he told Shawn the night they said ‘I love you.’ He can’t keep things inside anymore, he can’t hide anymore. He might not be able to make Shawn stay with him, but he can be crystal clear about what he feels and what he wants.

“I’ll give you as much time as you need,” He says, his voice even and sure despite the fact that he’s completely fucking terrified; laying himself bare. “I understand if you can’t forgive me, but I want you, Shawn. I want this,” Lassiter says, gesturing between them. “I love you.”

Shawn’s expression softens, his mouth curving into a smile; a small smile, but _fuck_ it’s something. “I love you too, Lassie. I couldn’t stop even if I wanted to, but-“ He pauses, biting his lip. “You hurt me, Lassie. I know you didn’t mean to, but you did.”

Lassiter swallows thickly and nods. “I know and I’m so-“

“I’m not asking you to apologize,” Shawn interrupts. “You said you were sorry and I believe you. I just need time to work past it.” He heads back to the door, opening it and stepping across the threshold. “So, goodnight, Lass.”

Lassiter doesn’t trust himself to talk so instead he waves a little and nods. When Shawn closes the door behind him, Lassiter drops heavily onto the couch and cradles his head in his hands. Shawn didn’t tell him to fuck off and that’s certainly more than Lassiter had hoped for. He’s seriously considering pouring himself a drink when there’s another knock at his door and he almost trips over his feet in his haste to answer it.

As he hoped, Shawn is at his door looking sheepish. “I, uh, worked past it,” he says. His smile is almost bashful and Lassiter wants to taste it.

So he does.

Leaning down he whispers Shawn’s name before capturing his lips, bringing his hands up, stroking along Shawn’s stubbled jawline. To Lassiter’s immense relief, Shawn not only kisses back but slides his tongue into Lassiter’s mouth fisting his shirt, pulling them flush against each other.

And _Christ_ it feels so good to have Shawn pressed against him again.

They’re both gripping each other and making out like horny teenagers before Shawn pulls back a little, gasping and laughing. Lassiter smiles down at the man he loves, feeling slightly giddy. After grinning at each other for a moment, Shawn reaches up and slots their mouths together again. Their kisses turn slow and sensual.

“Bedroom,” Lassiter murmurs against Shawn’s mouth.

Shawn whines against him, “Not gonna make it that far, Lassie. Need you now.”

_Fuck._

In a show of strength that surprises even himself, Lassiter grabs Shawn’s ass, lifting him off his feet. Obligingly, Shawn wraps his legs around him as Lassiter walks them back to the couch where they collapse in an undignified heap.

Lassiter would laugh if their new position didn’t fit their hard cocks together perfectly. Moaning loudly, he grasps Shawn’s hips as they grind together. Shawn’s thighs are tight around him, his breath coming in harsh pants.

Working a hand between them, Lassiter manages – with no small amount of difficulty – to get his pants and Shawn’s jeans open enough to pull them both free. The first hot touch of skin on skin almost finishes him and he has to lean his head against the back of the couch and breathe through it.

When he looks up again, Shawn is gazing down at him. “What?” Lassiter asks, blushing at Shawn’s intensity.

Shawn leans in, nipping at his lower lip. “So hot, Lassie. You’re so fucking hot.”

Apparently, Shawn has rendered him unable to speak because he can’t think of a single thing to say to that. Instead he slides his hand back and grips their erections together. He uses the precome leaking from both of them to slick the way.

Shawn rocks gently in his lap while his hands roam over Lassiter’s chest, stopping occasionally to scrape at his nipples through his dress shirt. “Missed this,” Shawn whispers against his throat. “Missed you. Missed you so fucking much.”

Lassiter can only groan his agreement as he strokes them harder and faster.

Shawn’s hands come up to grip his shoulders and the broken whimpers dropping from his lips are taking Lassiter apart.

Until he starts to speak. A litany of sinful praise and begging that makes Lassiter wonder if he could come from Shawn’s voice alone. “ _Fuck_ , Lassie. Fuck yes. That’s it… that’s it, Lassie. Come on. Make us come, Lassie. Make us come.”

And Christ, Lassiter’s only human. Surging forward he comes, and comes hard, over his fist, gasping out Shawn’s name along with professions of love that he is long past finding embarrassing. He is intensely euphoric but still aware of Shawn thrusting against him.

Redoubling his efforts, he uses the renewed slickness between them to pull Shawn over until his lover is crying out, coming hard against him.

Later, after they’ve showered and Lassiter has thrown their wrecked clothing into the wash, they slip naked between soft sheets. Shawn snuggles up to him shamelessly, tucking his head under Lassiter’s chin and tangling their legs together.

“Jesus, it’s like sleeping with an octopus,” Lassiter complains, but there’s no heat in his tone.

“You love it.” Shawn mumbles against his chest.

“Yes, I do.” Lassiter agrees before sliding his hands into Shawn’s hair and tugging gently until his boyfriend meets his eyes. “Never again, Shawn. I promise,” and Shawn’s answering smile eases the last of the worry in his heart.

“I love you,” Shawn whispers and Lassiter does the only thing he can do.

He kisses him.

**Author's Note:**

> An epilogue will follow and then this little series will be complete.
> 
> Lassiter’s internal thought about “going back to what you know” is lifted from a 1st season episode of Deadwood. 
> 
> Lassiter’s flashback line to Victoria is lifted from “Tuesday the 17th” and should be credited to Steve Franks & James Roday.


End file.
